Devil’s Bass (Devil’s Halo Rockstar Romance #4)

Chapter One

Hayden

Letting The Cables Sleep

Bush

There’s a difference between noise and rhythm. Most people don’t understand that. Noise is reaction. It’s uncontrolled. It spills and fills space without purpose, without direction. It’s loud for the sake of being loud. Rhythm on the other hand is intentional. It’s measured and contained.

Mikey’s playing noise. I let him go for longer than I should.

Not because I don’t hear it. I hear everything.

Every strike that lands a fraction too hard, every fill that rushes ahead of the beat like he’s trying to outrun something sitting in his chest. The tempo wavers just enough that no one else would call it out. At least, not yet.

But it’s there. And it’s getting worse. I push off the wall and step toward the kit. “You’re too loud.”

He spins a stick between his fingers, flashing that easy grin that works on everyone who doesn’t look closely enough. “Rock n’ roll drummer.”

“Not like that you aren’t.”

I adjust the mic. Not because it needs it, but because I need a second to think. To decide how much to say. How far to push.

When I straighten, my eyes lock on his. “You’re pushing too hard.”

He shrugs. “Trying something different.”

Luc calls it after that. Good. It would’ve gone downhill fast if we kept going. I don’t say anything else until I’m outside. I wait until he walks through the door and then speak. “You’re coming with me.”

It’s not a question, yet, he hesitates. I know it’s pride, but he swallows it and follows me anyway. I think it’s because he’s curious where the hell I might be taking him.

I drive. I always drive. The city moves around us in controlled lines of light and motion. Traffic signals and patterns with predictable systems. Everything where it’s supposed to be. It’s the only reason it works.

Mikey shifts beside me, restless energy contained in muscle and bone, but not in mind. He doesn’t know how to sit still in silence. I don’t fill it for him. Some lessons just need to be experienced and not taught.

I pull up to our destination. The building doesn’t announce itself.

That’s part of the appeal. From the outside, it’s forgettable.

It’s red industrial brick; just another structure in a city full of them.

Inside, it’s something else entirely. Low light.

Dark leather. Clean lines. Conversations that don’t travel further than they’re meant to.

Music that doesn’t compete, it coils and wraps around the room instead of filling it.

Everything here has intention. Everything here is controlled.

I take a seat at the bar. Mikey sits next to me. I order without looking. I don’t need a menu. I don’t need options. Mikey asks for tequila. Of course he does. “You’ve lost control,” I watch the amber in my glass shift with the movement of my hand.

He lets out a chuff of disgust. “You sound like my fucking dad.”

“You react to everything.” I take a slow sip. “You let people pull you. You let noise decide for you.”

“I’m fine.” He’s not. He knows he’s not. That’s the problem.

“You’re not. Stop pretending you are.” I set my glass down with quiet precision. “You need to stop listening to the noise or it’s going to swallow you whole.”

“You think telling me that is helpful?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes in disdain.

I let a slow breath escape before I speak. “You either take control of it, or it will take control of you.”

Sasha approaches like she always does. No hesitation. No uncertainty. Her fingers brush my wrist and it’s light, deliberate. A question, not an assumption. Good girl. I turn my head slightly, meeting her eyes. Holding them. That’s where it starts. Always. She doesn’t look away.

I lean in just enough that my voice doesn’t travel. A few quiet words. Direction, not demand. She nods once, takes a few steps away, then drops to her knees to wait. I stand, adjusting my jacket, attention returning briefly to Mikey, his face a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“You think that kind of control is what I need?” His chin cocking toward Sasha.

“You don’t need what I do,” I tell him.

His gaze flits around the room, toward the subtle shifts of power he doesn’t fully understand yet. “No,” he mutters.

No, you don’t. But you do need something. “You know what you want,” I add, meeting his eyes one last time. “You just have to ask for it.”

I don’t wait for a response. I step away.

Tap her shoulder. She rises smoothly and follows.

Not behind, but beside me. I guide her through a door marked ‘Private’, and down a corridor.

It’s quiet, contained. Doors line the walls, each one closed, each one holding its own version of control, negotiated and understood.

I stop at one, take a key from my pocket, and unlock it before pulling the door open. I motion for her to step inside, and I enter after her, the door clicking shut behind me. For a moment, we just stand there.

Silence. Assessment. I don’t touch her immediately. I never do.

“Look at me.”

Her chin lifts. Eyes steady. Good. There’s a difference between willingness and performance. I don’t work with performance.

“You understand why you’re here.” It’s not a question.

“Yes.” Her voice is soft. Certain. No tremor. No resistance. Her choice.

I close the distance slowly, giving her time to track every movement, every shift. Nothing sudden. Nothing unclear. Control isn’t about force. It’s about clarity.

My fingers slide under her chin, not to move her, but to direct her focus. To anchor her. “What’s your safe word?” I ask quietly.

“Yellow to slow down. Red to stop.” Her eyes never leave mine. The rules always come first. Consent that doesn’t disappear the second things deepen. Her breath steadies under my gaze. There. That’s where it settles. That’s where control becomes something else entirely.

Sasha is the CEO of one of the biggest tech firms in the city. She has to make dozens of decisions a week that drive the well-being of the company as well as hundreds of employees. She comes to the club, to me, because here, she doesn’t have to make a single choice. I make them for her.

It’s not dominance. It’s her surrender. I guide. She responds. It’s measured and intentional. It’s controlled. Clean. Nothing spills. Nothing breaks. Everything exactly where it should be. Exactly how I need it.

I release her chin. “Take off all your clothes. Place them on the chair. Then kneel beside the bed.”

I cross my arms and lean back against the wall opposite the bed, and watch as she does as instructed, not a second of hesitation from her.

Her body is gorgeous. She’s lean in all the right places, her breasts natural, the nipples peaking as soon as the air hits them.

But that’s not what causes my cock to harden.

It’s her compliance. Her complete trust in me.

When she’s naked and kneeling, I push off the wall to remove my jacket and then my shirt. I hang them both over the back of the chair. I slip my shoes off next, sliding them beside hers. My belt comes next before I slide my pants and boxers off. Fold them. Place them beside her clothes.

My length throbs. I wrap my hand around it clenching tightly as I cross the few steps to reach her. Her mouth lines up perfectly. “Open.”

Her lips part, her breath hot against my skin.

“Wider.”

Her head tips back slightly as she stretches her mouth wider.

“Such a good girl.” I smile as I guide my cock between her lips. “Now suck.”

Wet, hot heat surrounds my length as her mouth closes and begins to slide up and down my shaft, her cheeks hollowing out as she sucks. I fist my hands in her hair, controlling the speed and depth.

Saliva drips from the corners of her red, swollen lips as I thrust myself in to the hilt, her throat constricting tightly around the head when she swallows. I groan, pushing further into her throat, tears now beginning to stream down her face as she peers up at me.

She can tap twice if this becomes too much.

She won’t. I know her limits and this isn’t even the tip of the iceberg in terms of what she can handle.

I pull back after a second, and as expected, she leans forward not wanting this to end, sucking harder in an attempt to keep me in her mouth.

There’s a small popping sound as my dick breaks free of her lips, her tongue darting out to swipe at the fluid dripping from my tip.

“You want more?” I take a step back, stroking my length, my gaze locking onto her eager one.

“Yes, sir.” My cock jumps in my hand at her words, a drop of cum weeping from the tip.

“On the bed. On your hands and knees, your ass in the air.” My tone is commanding, slow, steady. Her response is not as she scrambles onto the bed and into position.

I grab a condom from the bedside table, slide it on, then step up behind her. I drag the head of my cock through her folds. She’s soaked. Her excitement dripping between her thighs. Her back arches as she lets out a soft moan.

“So responsive. So ready for me.”

“Yes, sir.” It falls from her in a mewl as she peeks up over her shoulder at me.

“Is this what you want?” I push the head of my cock into her a single inch and stop.

“Yes, sir.” Her head bobbing up and down, her hair swishing around her.

I drive my length into her with a single thrust, not stopping until my hips slam up against her ass.

A guttural cry of pleasure echoes throughout the room.

I stay pressed up against her for five long seconds, letting her adjust to my size, and then I draw back and drive into her again. And again. And again.

It takes less than ten strokes before she orgasms, the walls of her pussy convulsing around my cock as she screams out in relief. Her shoulders sag to the bed, my grip tightening on her hips as I continue to thrust into her, my release detonating a moment after. Always after. Never first.

When it’s over, I don’t rush. I never rush. I step back first. Create space. Let the moment settle before breaking it completely.

“You did well,” I tell her, voice even and steady. Her shoulders soften slightly at that. Not relief. It’s acknowledgment. I help her clean up, make sure she’s okay.

I adjust my cuffs. My jacket. Return everything to order. She gathers herself with the same quiet precision. No mess. No chaos. Exactly as intended. I make sure she’s okay, then let her leave first.

The hallway feels cooler when I step out several moments after.

Sharper. I roll my shoulders once, resetting, already compartmentalizing the last hour into its proper place.

It’s contained. Done. I take two steps. Then stop.

Because something feels off. Not the space.

Not the sound. But something. My gaze shifts down the corridor.

And lands on the last person I ever expected to see here. In this place.

For a second, just one, I don’t move. I don’t think. I don’t breathe. Ten years collapses into that single second. She looks exactly the same. And also, completely different.

Her eyes meet mine. Recognition hits instantly. Sharp and undeniable. Her expression doesn’t change. But something unspoken passes between us that’s too heavy to name in a hallway like this.

She doesn’t stop walking. Doesn’t hesitate. The man beside her says something low, his hand brushing lightly at her back as they move past me. She doesn’t look away from me until the last possible second. And when she does, just like that, she’s gone.

I don’t follow. I don’t call out. I don’t move. Not immediately. Because for the first time in a long time, I don’t know what comes next. And I don’t like it. Not even a little bit.